It took every bit of Dahmer's innate control to prevent himself from reaching up to straighten out the wrinkle of consternation that spread across her forehead. It would be useless – Sherlock's brow was more or less permanently creased, she was constantly in thought, her mind racing. He found that the best way to help her when she became bored and overwhelmed (although she'd never admit to that) by it all was to keep her distracted. Keep giving her things her thoughts could race against. These periods came and went with enough frequency that Dahmer made sure to watch for signs of their arrival. He was constantly thinking of different things they could do doing these times. Exercises, drills or day to day activities that he could turn into a challenge for her. It just so happened that they hadn't done any training drills in a while. He knew that the abandoned down at the edge of the forest was perfect for what he had in mind. They'd be able to use the large gathering of empty buildings for several different exercises, focusing on stealth and grace. They'd be able to scale the walls and run across the roof tops, chasing their distractions down. He'd take the lead and he knew she'd follow – she trusted him to do this, although he knew she'd never be able to thank him for it. Not directly, anyway. Which was fine – he didn't do this in exchange for her gratitude. He just did it for her.

Her loved her entirely – an aching, all encompassing love that took the breath out of him at times. But Dahmer also mistrusted this love. He knew it would upset his friend, make her uncomfortable. And the male didn't want to do anything to hurt her. And his own feelings – while they were secondary to hers, they still mattered. The desperate way he loved her had taken root inside of him, grabbing hold to the point where he figured he'd have to die in order to let go of it. Maybe not even then. And because he loved her so much, he couldn't do anything about it. Her couldn't tell her – it would ruin things. So he kept it all to himself, struggling to beat down the feelings and words that struggled to break free from his throat.

Despite all of this, Dahmer knew that Sherlock was aware of how he felt about her. Well, maybe not to the extent that he did – but she was away in some way. And the fact that she hadn't done or said anything about it spoke multitudes. So he was okay with settling with how things stood. He could tend to his broken feelings in private. Being there for her was what mattered most.

Sherlock's grip on his hand did not loosen as he pulled her gently along, and he took this as encouragement. Not and offering of something more, but an admission of how she felt: right now she was willing to let him be her lifeline. He wouldn't let her drown. He pushed through some under brush, careful to keep it at bay until Sherlock was clear of it before letting the branches swing back. He said nothing, allowing the sound of their travels act as their soundtrack. The male squinted slightly as the duo reached the edge of the forest, his free hand reaching up to shield his eyes. Dahmer paused for a moment, allowing for their eyes to adjust before he began walking again. Their destination loomed before them: a decent sized town silhouetted against the afternoon sun. The buildings had long been dormant, crumbled and faded against the passage of time. The former assassin led his partner to the closest building, one in a long line of cookie cutter houses that were scattered around the outskirts of the down. The male considered the empty structure for a few quick seconds before moving forward. As he moved, he finally let go of Sherlock's hand, severing their connection. He was unwilling to dwell on that, incapable of acknowledging the sudden ache that tugged at his heart. Instead he darted forward, leaping onto a window sill and allowing his momentum to propel him upwards. At the right second, his left arm whipped out and grasped a protruding brick. Gracefully, the male pulled himself up again and again until he made it to the top. If the both of them kept moving quickly, maybe she'd be able to out run her thoughts and he'd be able to forget his entirely. He paused where he was in order to look out for her, waiting for his friend to join him by his side.

It was strange, Sherlock thought, how much faith and trust she put in Dahmer. She knew they were friends – in fact, he was her only friend – but Sherlock found it difficult to believe that this is what every single friendship felt like, that one would simply put trust in many wolves that they considered friends; that just opened up your end of being manipulated or fooled, of being hurt by those who you were supposed to trust. As Mycroft used to instill in her, caring was not an advantage; all hearts were broken. In an attempt to protect herself from any heartbreak, Sherlock had chosen at a young age not to care and yet… and yet here she was, clinging to Dahmer’s paw and putting all of her faith and trust into her dear friend.

As they began to walk forward, with Dahmer leading the way, Sherlock unconsciously tightened her hold in an attempt to not lose the very slight reprieve of the pain in her mind. While her mind was still roaring with uncontrollable thoughts all jumbling together, Dahmer was helping to ground her and she didn’t want to lose even that slight improvement. Instead, she kept her hold and concentrated on where they were going. It was obvious that Dahmer had a set place in mind by the way he just set off and didn’t waste any time in getting them to the edge of the forest.

Standing at the edge of the forest, Sherlock raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sudden onslaught of bright sunshine. Once her eyes became accustomed to the change in lighting, she lowered her hand and peered at what she assumed to be their destination, the silhouette of a town on the horizon. From their position across the empty field, it seemed that the town was abandoned and had been that way for some time. With a slight tug on her hand, Dahmer lead her across the overgrown field and towards the row of crumbling houses.

As Dahmer stopped in front of one of the more stable cookie cutter home, Sherlock let her pale eyes take in the sudden flood of information and finally, finally her mind was slowly starting to concentrate. It was nowhere near better, and Sherlock knew that it would take more than just staring at an abandoned building to completely fix her mind- surely Dahmer knew her well enough to realize that as well. Almost as if he could read her mind, it was at that point that Dahmer let go of her hand (and she had to stop herself from reaching after the vanishing appendage) and watched him effortlessly climb the building.

A small smirk graced her lips as she watched her clever, very clever friend reach the top of the building and look back at her. Taking that as her cue, the lithe female ran forward and began following the path that Dahmer had used – more or less – to climb the building. As she climbed, a real and honest smile made an appearance on her face- it had been far too long since she had done this and it wasn’t until now that she realized how much she had missed this; not just the climbing but climbing with Dahmer. She slowed in her assent as she reached the top, her hand griping tightly against the building as she hoisted herself over and safely on to the roof of the building. Finding where Dahmer was standing, she dusted her hands off and stopped at his side, You, Dahmer, are absolutely brilliant. I think this is just what I need. She looked out at the buildings stretching out in front of them and then glanced sideways at her friend, Well? Shall we?

The afternoon sun beat down on the two friends, its warmth heating their black fur. The two of them hadn't been moving along the rooftops for very long, but already the male found himself missing his long, protective cloak. He'd left his gear and weapons back where they had been for months now – tucked safely away in a bag. The male had stuffed everything in there the day he walked away from it all. As much as he hadn't ever wanted to wear them again, he couldn't bring himself to dispose of them. They were precious and held a lot of history. And while they represented all of the lives he'd ended, they stood for other things as well: honour, family and dedication. The day he had been presented with the Assassin's tools and outfit had been one of his proudest. At the time, his only regret had been that his father hadn't been there to see him. From then on though, he was expected to display the decorum befitting his high rank – Dahmer took it all very seriously. The year or so following that day had been one of his greatest, his happiest. Unfortunately, experience opened his eyes and tainted his outlook on everything: the war, his part in it and the possibility of it never ending. The fighting between the two packs was fierce and intense, neither side gaining a foothold in order to push towards victory. It all seemed hopeless. And worst of all, he had found himself at a dead end with Sherlock. Maybe it was wrong of him to want more from her, to not be satisfied with just her friendship. He hated himself for it, but he also hated her. And that wasn't fair – so he did the only thing he could think of. He bowed out and fled his home in the middle of the night without telling anything, guilt and shame his only companions. Several miles outside of Jasper Valley Dahmer had shed himself of his cloak and hidden blade, folding them neatly and placing them in his pack. He vowed never to use them again – and hadn't, barely even touching them between now and then. But right now the two of them were only training for the sake of exercise – there was no mission coming up. Wearing them for something like this wouldn't break his vow, right?

Dahmer debated inwardly, his progress halted for a moment. His gaze drifted in the direction of the forest. He could run back and grab everything quickly – it would make this exercise a lot easier. Less hot, anyway. But it would also mean halting the progress the two had already made, and the massive male was certain that Sherlock's thoughts would catch up with her during the downtime. He wasn't willing to let that happen, no matter how temporary his friend's pain would be. The wolf's thoughts turned to when Sherlock's grasp had tightened in his, a silent admittance to her need of him. It wasn't what he wanted, but those months spent without her had taught him to accept whatever she was capable of giving. He didn't want to be away from his companion again, not ever. And if that meant suffering in silence, then fine – maybe it was his penance.

The two of them made their way across a large roof, keeping their bodies low and sticking to the shadows whenever they were available. They were on one of the tallest buildings in the town – an office complex that had been in the middle of construction before the place was abandoned when the plague struck. The edge of the roof was coming up quickly, and Dahmer could see that the space between this structure and the next stretched out a little longer than he preferred. His steady and surefooted gait didn't falter once, but the male's eyes sought for a solution. There – to the left of where they were running, an old crane that was once used to bring supplies up to the workers was anchored to the roof, its arm reaching out and over the gap. With a quick grin to his friend, Dahmer adjusted his course and let a burst of speed propel him quicker to the end. He hopped up onto the ledge and was air born in the same motion, legs kicking him up and over without hesitation. Just as it looked as though he'd plunge the hundred or so feet the the bottom, the male's thick arm whipped out, claws grasping the crane's metal length. As soon as he was certain that he'd connected and that his grasp was sure, the male brought his other arm up and pumped his legs forward, then backward – allowing for enough momentum to see him through. Just as he hit the apex of his arc, Dahmer let go and allowed gravity to take over. He landed on the next roof a few seconds later, his paws making a satisfying thump! as he moved into a crouch in order to absorb his weight properly. It was Sherlock's turn. He shifted out of his crouch and turned, eager to watch his partner's next move. He knew she'd move with a grace that often took his breath away.

He worried, too. A while back – while the two of them had been in the middle of their training, Sherlock had taken a fall. It was a memory that haunted Dahmer Oriel for many different reasons – teaching him lessons he'd feel the fall out from for the rest of his life. Seeing her like that, the concentration slipping from her face as surprise took hold; before the rest of her disappeared from his view. He'd rushed to the edge of the house just in time to witness her prone figure hit the ground with a sound he never wanted to hear again. It forced him to realize just how important his friend was to him. More than that – it drove home the realization he'd been struggling with for months at the time: the fact that he loved her in a desperate, devastating way. Then there was the knowledge that he was capable of losing her, even if they did everything right. Sherlock's jump had been perfection, just as it always was. But the buildings were old and often unreliable and this one had chosen to crumble beneath her feet at just the wrong time. He wasn't able to protect her. There were forces beyond his control, things he couldn't keep her safe from. Whether she was willing to let him protect her or not.

The memory flashed through Dahmer's mind as he watched his friend, a knot of worry creasing the male's brow. He scrutinized the roof of the building around him, looking for anything that might suggest structural weakness. It looked sturdy, but so had the old one. Worry took hold and rooted itself in his chest. Trying to be sneaky about it, Dahmer positioned himself nonchalantly in a way that would make it easy for him to lunge forward in order to catch Sherlock should anything happened. He hoped she wouldn't notice, but also knew that trying to hide anything from her was useless. She'd know exactly what he was up to. He could only hope that she was still feeling grateful enough to appreciate this gesture as well.

The sun was beating down heavily on the black female and she found herself briefly jealous of Dahmer’s lighter coat; while she loved her glossy coat (yes, she was allowed to be normal some of the time), it was just absolutely dreadful in the hot summer sun. The only reprieve she was getting was the slight breeze that would occasionally pick up; most of the time, it was still air. Although she was getting increasingly hot, she was slowly beginning to lose herself in the thrill of the chase as they ran from roof top to roof top. It had been ages since she had trained with Dahmer and it was absolutely exhilarating; it was like the best high that Sherlock could think of.

While running just slightly behind Dahmer, Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as she took in the distance between the rooftop they were currently on to the one they were aiming to get to. It was a bit longer than what she was happy with, and a quick glance at Dahmer confirmed that he was feeling the same. She wasn’t going to fool herself by trying to jump the distance unaided and she slowed down her pace and eventually stopped as she watched Dahmer do the complete opposite and sped up. Raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she watched as he used the abandoned crane to propel him over to the other building. With a quick nod to herself, she knew that was the only way she’d be able to join him was to use the same route that he had; there was just no other way over to that roof from where she was standing, not unless she suddenly grew wings and learned how to fly.

Making her way back to the beginning of the roof to capitalize on all of the speed that she could get (now that she had stopped and wasted all of the momentum that she had gained on their journey), she took a deep breath and quickly mapped out her route with her eyes. They travelled the length of the seemingly secure roof, moved to crane that would be her passage across the gap, and then landed briefly on Dahmer’s still form on the other side. Their eyes locked for a moment, and even though Sherlock was nervous about the large distance, she found herself reassured that her best friend was there. Still looking at her friend, she gave him one of her real smiles and then let it slip from her lips as she nodded to herself and started off. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to eat up the distance from her starting point to halfway, and just when she was about to put on another burst of speed, she heard the large snap as she ran over a portion of the roof that she had failed to notice had slowly been rotting away. Before she could do more than look at Dahmer, she fell.

Splintered wood fell with her, and it felt like the fall lasted ages and took no time all at the same time until she her feet hit (somewhat) solid ground, before they buckled underneath her and she landed awkwardly. The force of the sudden stop knocked all air out of her lungs and all she could do was lay there, staring up at the dusty air and regret that Dahmer had to witness her fall.

For a second, Dahmer felt as though he had been thrown back into the past and right into the memory of Sherlock's fall. He could feel the lurching sickness in his stomach, the nausea caused by his worry as he watched his best friend plummet. He hadn't been able to do anything then, even if he had been right by her side. Why wouldn't that image go away? Why did it keep replaying itself in his head whenever they went on their free-runs? It was as though his mind enjoyed punishing him – achieving a sick sort of satisfaction as it showed him how he could lose her over and over again. The male shook his head violently, forcing himself into the present. He knew that Sherlock was most likely giving him one of her looks – a silent comment on his distraction. She probably had some sort of smart ass comment for him, and he'd have to nonchalantly refute whatever it was. Just as long as she didn't figure out what he really was thinking about. Slightly sheepish, the male turned his gaze upward to where his friend had been standing – and did a double take. His eyes widened in horror and the male's heart flew up into his throat. The building across from him was empty, with no sign of his sarcastic friend. It wasn't a memory – it really had happened. Again. She was going to be taken from him again!

Fucking god DAMN IT! He snarled angrily, cursing everything he could think of – the building, the height, gravity and most of all, himself. It was his idea to do this. He was the reason she had fallen. He had failed her once again. Without any further thought, Dahmer flung himself from the rooftop. He slammed into the adjacent building's wall at an angle, using his left hand and foot to slide down its length. He hit the ground running, searching desperately for any way into the warehouse. It had been boarded up long ago – but the windows could have been bricked or welded shut and Dahmer would have crashed his way through them without stopping. The wolf was dangerously close to losing it when he finally found what he was looking for – a window at ground level. Several thick two by fours had been nailed across it and he could see that a lot of the window's panes still remained behind them. That was all he took time to register in his thoughts – a second later and he was ripping the wood from the wall, tossing each board aside carelessly. Soon he was left with nothing but the window itself. The next sensible step would have been to use one of the strips of wood to knock the glass away – but Dahmer was far from thinking sensibly. He cocked his left arm, aimed and thrust it forward all in the same breath. Glass shattered around him, cutting his paw pads, but he barely noticed. He brushed the splintered glass away from the windowsill and launched himself up and into the opening.

He landed on the floor of the warehouse in a crouch, forcing himself to pause for a moment in order to get his bearings. His eyes slowly adjusted and he stood, searching frantically for any clue as to where Sherlock was. He couldn't see anyone or anything on the floor, it was still too dark. The male was in a small room, his only source of light was the sun that made it through the window. Shelves ran along the walls, mostly empty aside from large amount of dust. He fought the urge to sneeze, pushing boxes aside as he made his way to the only exit across the room. If the rest of the place was a maze – a whole building full of rooms like this one, he really was going to go insane. Finding Sherlock would take forever! Dahmer burst through the door, almost ripping the thing from its hinges. It crashed against the wall, the sound echoing through the warehouse. The male kept still, eyes and ears straining for any sign of his friend. Nothing. He kept moving.

To his immense satisfaction, the next room appeared to be the main part of the warehouse. It opened wide and immense before him, almost entirely dark. And then there she was – several hundred feet away from him, Sherlock lay in a beam of light. His gaze turned upwards and he focused on the ceiling, grateful for the light that streamed in from the hole in the roof. Sherlock! He sprinted for his friend, stopping just before he crashed into her. She lay on the floor before him. The male was desperate to see that his partner was okay, but hesitant to touch her. If she injured her spine he risked making things worse. So all he could do was sit beside her, hands reaching outward, imploring his friend to give him a sign that she was okay.